


Dark Roast, No Sugar

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Politics, Casual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Extramarital Affairs, Infidelity, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Public figures in the closet, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4791059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Politics AU. Clarence is running for Prime Minister. Kaká takes his rightful place as his campaign manager and right-hand man. Filling the left-hand position is more difficult, because Riccardo is by far the best candidate – and he has very sound reasons for not wanting to work for either of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Roast, No Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Round 4 of [Futbal Mini-Bang](http://futbal-minibang.livejournal.com/), accompanied by [Karo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsk)'s amazing fanmix. I know you were just as flooded with real life as I was during this collaboration, so I'm doubly thankful to you for taking the time not only to make the great playlist but also to beta this monster of a fic!
> 
> I know next to nothing about Italian politics, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't pay too close attention to the facts behind the fiction. The premise itself was inspired by Seedorf's short tenure as Milan's head coach and all the accompanying rumours about his falling out with Monto, although we'll probably never know what really happened between them.

[Listen to the fanmix](http://8tracks.com/kfunk22/dark-roast-no-sugar)

 

 

 

Riccardo is running late.  
  
It’s been one of those days. First, he missed the train to Milan and only barely made it to the morning meeting he’d scheduled weeks in advance. As a result, he’d left a horrible first impression on the politician whose vote he was supposed to be vying for.  
  
On the return journey to Bergamo, the train had been delayed because of some freak accident on the tracks, forcing him not only to cancel the lunch date with his mother but also to reschedule his afternoon meeting with Mayor Prandelli.  
  
Had Riccardo known beforehand that becoming a lobbyist would only make his life even more miserable than it already was, he would have gladly stuck with party politics.  
  
Except it hadn’t been his choice to leave the politics, Riccardo reminds himself bitterly as he hits the button for the seventh floor with more force than actually necessary, as if breaking the button will somehow make the lift move faster.  
  
“Sorry I’m late,” Riccardo calls into the office as he rushes through the door, shrugging off his coat, unsuccessfully trying to shake off the rainwater dripping from his hair. “Awful weather – as if the day wasn’t horrible enough without it!”  
  
“You still look dashing, though,” his co-worker and close friend Cristina tells him with a reassuring smile. She picks up a small pile of post-it notes from her desk and hands it to him. “Your phone’s dead, so people have been calling the landline. Cesare’s tried to call you twice – his private line, not the Mayor’s office – and your four o’clock meeting’s waiting for you in your office.”  
  
Riccardo fishes his work phone out of his pocket and curses loudly when he confirms that it is, indeed, dead. He’s been using his personal phone all afternoon – the internet connection is better on the road, but the number is hidden from everyone but his closest friends and family.  
  
“See what you can do with that, will you?” he asks as he hands the phone to Cristina. “The four o’clock— someone from the Arcigay headquarters, right?”  
  
“I’m afraid not, there’s been some mix up in the scheduling,” Cristina answers with a shrug, pursing her lips in only half-feigned annoyance. “It’s the PA of Minister Seedorf. He said you knew each other?”  
  
“Ricky? What business does he have here?” Perfect. Just  _fucking_  perfect. A meeting with his ex is definitely the kind of thing Riccardo needs to finish off this horrible day.  
  
Cristina shrugs again and waves her hand toward his office dismissively –  _why not find out yourself?_  Cristina is not Riccardo’s secretary, a fact she keeps reminding him of almost on a daily basis, which is why her taking Riccardo’s calls and even welcoming his guests in his absence is more than he could ever ask from her.  
  
Riccardo thanks her with a genuine, if forced, smile and a peck on the cheek before he heads for his office. He would never admit it out loud, but his heart rate is accelerating with each step he takes towards the door – towards Ricky waiting on the other side – nervousness and excitement mixing together.  
  
It has been almost three years since he last met Ricky in more than just passing. That had been back when Riccardo had just handed in his resignation from his job as Cesare’s personal assistant.  
  
“Mr. Leite, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Riccardo keeps his eyes averted from Ricky’s on purpose as he walks into the office, careful to keep his voice as neutral as possible – which of course means his words come out almost hostile.  
  
“Good to see you too, Riccardo.”  
  
Riccardo’s head snaps up involuntarily at the use of his given name. Ricky is addressing him like no time had passed at all, as if they were still friends after everything that happened.  
  
Ricky is standing behind Riccardo’s desk, curiously studying the photographs he has set there – a few with his family, one with Cristina, one with Cesare, and one with a group of friends from last year’s Pride. There used to be a time when Ricky’s picture would have been there alongside the rest – just another friend if anyone asked about it, but they both knew better.  
  
Ricky looks amazing, not a day older than how Riccardo remembers him, despite the stubble he has grown since their last encounter. He is as beautiful as ever and Riccardo’s heart actually misses a beat when he finally meets his warm brown eyes.  
  
“What’re you doing here, Mr. Leite?” Riccardo repeats his question quietly, forcibly breaking the eye-contact. “And why’d you lie about being with the Arcigay? We both know I’d never make that kind of a mistake.”  
  
“You’re still not returning my calls. Quite unfair of you, considering it’s been three years and it was  _you_  who wanted to break up in the first place.” Ricky is obviously determined to keep this visit personal despite Riccardo’s reluctance. “I figured coming here personally was the only way for you to hear me out.”  
  
“I’m afraid you and I remember that breakup very differently,” Riccardo grumbles as he walks over to the desk and pulls out his office chair, gesturing Ricky towards the seat on the other side. “Now, why don’t you just tell me what your business here is, so I can get back to actual work?”  
  
“You haven’t talked to Cesare yet, have you?” Ricky asks, the question taking Riccardo completely by surprise. What could the Mayor of Bergamo possibly have to do with Ricky?  
  
Ricky seems to take his silence as a confirmation because he continues without waiting for an answer, “Clarence is running for Prime Minister.”  
  
Riccardo’s mouth is hanging open, whatever he was about to say forgotten, before he manages a forced laugh. “You’re joking, right?”  
  
“It’s a long process, but I believe we’ve got a real chance,” Ricky ignores Riccardo’s comment, continuing as if he hadn’t heard a thing, “The party leadership’s been riddled with infighting for months. We’re using the next regional elections to build up strong support base both among the public and within the party. If everything goes well, we’ll be ready just in time for the primary election ahead of the general elections.”  
  
“That’s an awful lot of uncertainties,” Riccardo interrupts Ricky when he looks like he is about to say something more, “and I’m not even going into the fact that Clarence is an arrogant bastard who’s never gonna win the primary. Not with his background.”  
  
“Cesare doesn’t think so,” Ricky retorts quietly, meeting Riccardo’s eyes and holding his gaze firmly. “In fact, he’s backing us, because he knows Clarence is exactly the kind of fresh face the Democratic Party needs. I know you can see it too, if you just put aside your personal feelings for a while.”  
  
Riccardo  _can_  see it, and it’s what pisses him off the most.  
  
Because even though he can see it – Clarence is a natural leader, a charismatic young politician who represents diversity and the new wave of liberal ideas slowly taking over Italian politics – all he can hear when he thinks about Clarence is the man telling him to cut things off with Ricky.  
  
_”You’re going to ruin his political career. And for what? For some meaningless fling that’s got absolutely no future, because Ricky’s never going to leave his family to be with you.”_  
  
“Why’re you telling me this, anyways?” Riccardo asks instead of voicing his thoughts, because Ricky still doesn’t know the actual reason why Riccardo despises the Dutchman so much. “You’ve obviously got a plan. You don’t need my blessing to carry on with it.”  
  
“We want you on the campaign staff,” Ricky says steadily. There is no deceit, not in his voice nor in his eyes. This is no joke. And still Riccardo can’t help but snort out a laugh, because Ricky  _cannot_  be serious.  
  
“No, you don’t,” Riccardo states with a roll of his eyes. “Or maybe  _you_  want me, but definitely not Clarence. I may hate his guts, but it’s always been a two-way street – he can’t stand me, either.”  
  
“You’re wrong,” Ricky retorts immediately, reaching over the desk and grasping Riccardo’s hand with his own. “You might’ve not always seen eye to eye, but Clarence does respect you and your skills. And we both agreed we need you on the team if we want to win the elections. Because you’re great at what you do.”  
  
Ricky’s hand is warm, almost clammy against Riccardo’s cooler skin, and Riccardo has to use all his willpower to pull his hand away. “No. I won’t be your token gay guy. Find someone else – or better yet, save yourself the trouble and come out yourself.”  
  
Ricky looks like Riccardo just slapped him and Riccardo has to force himself not to apologize. It is not his fault Ricky is stuck too deep in the closet to even consider the possibility of coming out.  
  
“That was unfair and you know it. And it’s not like that, anyways.”  
  
“Isn’t it?” Riccardo snaps back, the bigger picture now taking shape in his head. “The immigrant background will only get you so far. To casual voters you and Clarence both represent the traditional family values, a new generation of conservatives groomed by Berlusconi himself, desperately trying to escape his shadow by switching parties. You need me there to guarantee the LGBT vote  _and_  to show the career Democrats you’ve really left Berlusconi behind. Don’t even try to deny it, Ricky.”  
  
_Ricky_. Because this is personal now.  
  
“What do you want me to say?” Ricky asks quietly, the look in his eyes intense, almost desperate. “Yes, that’s exactly why we need you. We need someone who understands the game inside out, but looks at it from a completely different viewpoint from ours, and is not afraid to speak his mind even if it means going against Clarence himself.”  
  
“I told you to find someone else – I won’t be your dancing monkey.”  
  
Riccardo holds Ricky’s gaze resolutely, unblinking, until Ricky stands up slowly, shaking his head in resignation. “Clarence told me you wouldn’t listen, but I thought— never mind. Please, just, talk to Cesare, will you? And think about it.  _Really_  think about it. Please, Riccardo? For me?”  
  
“I’m sorry, Ricky,” Riccardo replies softly, finally breaking the eye-contact, focusing his gaze on the photo of his niece instead. It is still so painfully hard for him to say no to Ricky – maybe it’s something he will never learn.  
  
“I’ve missed you, Riccardo.” Ricky leaves the office with that one last confession.  
  
If there are tears stinging Riccardo’s eyes, he ignores them expertly.  
  
  
  
  
  
Riccardo meets Cesare a few days later, unofficially, hidden in the corner booth of their favourite restaurant.  
  
“Kaká told me about your meeting – that you turned him down on the spot,” Cesare takes up the topic right after they are done with the usual pleasantries. The way he looks at Riccardo, with such an obvious disappointment, makes Riccardo feel like he is fresh out of the university again, just starting his internship in Cesare’s office.  
  
“What was I supposed to say? There’s no way it’d ever work – like I could ever work under Ricky, not to mention Clarence.” Riccardo is proud he is able to keep his cool as he says it, even though he actually wants to hide behind the menu until Cesare drops the subject.  
  
“Not  _under_  them –  _with_  them,” Cesare corrects calmly, taking a small sip of his wine. “You didn’t even listen to what they had to offer, did you? You’re letting your pride blind your judgement, Riccardo. This might be your only chance to go back into politics.”  
  
“It was because of Clarence that I had to leave in the first place!” Riccardo snaps stubbornly, meeting Cesare’s calm eyes. “Ricky  _gave_  me those documents because it was the right call at the time, it had nothing to do with our relationship. Clarence knew that, and still he used those same documents to drive me out, because he was scared someone might find out about me and Ricky!”  
  
“Are you telling me you wouldn’t have done the same in his place?” Cesare asks, keeping his voice pointedly quiet as if to remind Riccardo they are not alone in the restaurant. “Had Berlusconi found out how you got those documents, it would’ve meant Kaká being outed at best, all three of you going down at worst. Clarence was simply protecting his own interest.  _You_  should’ve known better than to get involved in those shady dealings in the first place, especially since you were the one sleeping with the enemy.”  
  
“I didn’t hear you complain when it helped you win the next election after Clarence switched sides…” Riccardo grumbles around the rim of his wineglass. They’ve had this conversation many times before – how Riccardo had been in the wrong for not telling Cesare about him and Ricky before it was too late.  
  
Riccardo  _knows_  it had been his own fault. It’s just so much easier to blame Clarence, whom Riccardo had not particularly liked even before he took it upon himself to interfere with Riccardo and Ricky’s relationship.  
  
“Listen, Riccardo,” Cesare tells him calmly, “It was I who recommended you for the job, but it was ultimately Clarence’s decision. He’s seen what you’re capable of on many occasions, but more importantly, he’s seen your loyalty – that you’d rather give up your own career and happiness than see me or Kaká go down.”  
  
“He would know…” Riccardo mumbles and takes a large gulp of wine, emptying his glass on one go.  
  
“I know you don’t like him – I honestly can’t blame you for that – but Clarence is trying to make amends,” Cesare carries on, refilling Riccardo’s glass before he continues, “He’s offering you a way back: a chance to do something big, to reform the whole party. And once he wins the primary election, he can appoint you to a more permanent role within the party hierarchy.”  
  
“And what if he loses?”  
  
“You’ll still have shown what you’re capable of – without my influence, this time around – so there shouldn’t be any problem for you to continue your political career. Or who knows, maybe you’ll find out you don’t actually enjoy it as much as you thought. Either way, at least you’ll know you’ve done everything you could.”  
  
Riccardo realizes with a start that he is actually considering the offer now – damn Ricky for even suggesting it and damn Cesare for knowing him too well – but there is still one argument he is not ready to give up.  
  
“And what about Clarence? I could barely take his shit when he was on the opposing side – how on earth do you suggest I’d be able to put up with him as my  _boss_?”  
  
“That’s exactly why he wants you.” Cesare actually laughs at Riccardo’s annoyed pout. “Kaká’s going to be busy running the campaign, so they want you to take his place as Clarence’s PA. It’s a position where Clarence has to trust you to be brutally honest with him – you won’t just ‘take his shit’, as you so eloquently put it: you’ll throw it right back at his face, keep him in line, and make sure he doesn’t piss off wrong people. How many people aside from Kaká can you think of who could do that?”  
  
“ _Fine!_  I’ll call Ricky tomorrow, see if the offer still stands. But I’m not making any promises!”  
  
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Cesare assures him with a fatherly smile just as the waitress brings them their food and another bottle of wine. Riccardo has a creeping feeling that the mayor had known how the conversation would end long before it even started.  
  
  
  
  
  
Riccardo still remembers Ricky’s phone number by heart – a remnant from the time he could not afford having his secret lover’s number saved in his contacts in fear of getting caught.  
  
Those days are long gone and Riccardo actually has saved Ricky’s number since then – mostly because he wanted to know when not to pick up – but he still chooses the number from memory, his fingertips pressing the familiar numbers faster than he can think of them.  
  
“Riccardo? Please tell me you’ve thought about the offer?” Ricky picks up after the second ring.  
  
“I want a raise,” Riccardo replies simply, “and a new phone and a tablet. And I need a guarantee that my opinions will be valued, both by you and Clarence – I refuse to run around doing your bidding.”  
  
“We wouldn’t have you any other way.” Riccardo can actually hear Ricky’s smile in his voice, and the realization makes a small bundle of warmth swell inside his chest. “We’ll make a great team, Riccardo. They won’t know what hit them.”  
  
“One more thing,” Riccardo pipes in quickly, before Ricky can jump into premature assumptions. “I want to hear it from Clarence himself: if he really wants me and why. If I’m really going to throw myself under the bus, I want to at least know it’s not just because you and Cesare managed to persuade him into hiring me.”  
  
“I’ll have him call you as soon as he returns to the office,” Ricky assures him immediately, “and then we’ll have to organize a meeting – to polish up the details of your contract and to fill you in on all the stuff that’s been happening while you were gone.”  
  
“Thanks, Ricky.”  
  
Riccardo says it so softly that he is not even sure whether Ricky actually hears him before he receives an answer: “No, thank  _you_ , Riccardo. I know you had every reason to refuse me. It would’ve been only fair.”  
  
“When have I ever been able to refuse you?” Riccardo asks softly. “And you were right: it was me who wanted to break up in the first place. It’s about time I moved on, right?”  
  
“Is it really?” Ricky’s question is nothing but a whisper, and then he clears his throat and answers with more certainty: “It was the right decision for both of us. From now on, let’s just focus on becoming the best co-workers we could ever be, okay?”  
  
“Sounds good to me. I make a point not to sleep with the people I work with, after all.”  
  
Ricky does not answer and Riccardo notices belatedly that the joke might have been years too early. In all honesty, the words sound empty even to Riccardo’s own ears – because no matter what he says, he is still anything but over Ricky.  
  
  
  
  
  
Seedorf’s offices in central Milan are a far cry from what Riccardo has gotten used to in Arcigay’s small Bergamo branch. Standing outside the huge, modern building, Riccardo cannot stop the glimmer of resentment from sneaking into his mind: politics is all about money and this is where that money gets you.  
  
He quickly dismisses the thought as he steps inside the building, flashing his key card to the security guard in the lobby before heading for the lifts. He has no right to complain when his own salary has doubled with the move – and that is not even counting the fully furnished apartment for a laughably low rent and all the other benefits he’s received as a part of his contract.  
  
Despite waiting out his one month’s notice period, Riccardo has barely had time to get used to the idea of actually working for Clarence. He can’t even count the times he was about to call the whole thing off, a phone call to Ricky just one touch away.  
  
They’ve gone through all the plans for the upcoming election campaign – unofficially, usually through Cesare’s office – and Riccardo has memorized all his new duties and responsibilities in advance, not about to give Clarence any chance to complain about his work ethic. He could probably recite the minister’s schedule for the whole week, hour by hour, even in his sleep.  
  
“Hold the lift!”  
  
The voice is unbearably familiar and Riccardo resists the urge to let the doors slide closed. He’d promised both Cesare and Ricky he would make an effort to stay civil, so it wouldn’t do to get off on a wrong foot with Clarence right from the beginning.  
  
“Good morning, Minister Seedorf. I’m looking forward to working with you again,” he greets the man instead, forcing a polite smile on his face as Clarence joins him in the lift.  
  
Clarence looks impeccable as ever, not a wrinkle on his pressed suit despite the early hour and his rush for the lifts. Riccardo quickly snaps his gaze up to meet Clarence’s eyes, pointedly ignoring the fact that he had just been checking out his boss.  
  
“So, you’re starting today? Must’ve slipped my mind…” Clarence wastes no time for greetings, his face carefully neutral.  
  
Riccardo has not been in any contact with Clarence after that uncomfortable phone call a month ago, when the minister had shortly assured him he was needed. Standing face to face with his new boss, Riccardo has a creeping feeling that his services are not quite as welcome as Ricky and Cesare would have liked him to believe.  
  
The lift makes a stop on the fifth floor, a middle-aged woman joining them, and then finally they reach the ninth floor where Clarence’s offices are.  
  
“Your room’s over there,” Clarence gestures toward a small office that has a glass wall giving to the reception area and a connecting door at the back leading to a room that must be Clarence’s own. “Take a moment to get settled and meet me in my office in ten minutes.”  
  
He leaves Riccardo without another word, disappearing into his office and slamming the door after him, the force of it making the thin walls of the nearby office cubicles rattle. Riccardo rolls his eyes as he makes his way to his own door, silently wondering why Clarence had agreed to hire him in the first place if he was so obviously against the idea.  
  
At least he has his own office, which does not seem to be the case for most of the staff.  
  
His name plate is already on the door, probably thanks to Ricky, Riccardo notices with a half-smile as he slips into the room. There is a vase of flowers sitting on the corner of his desk and some books and decorative items scattered around the shelves.  
  
The card leaning against the vase reads  _“Welcome to Milan, Riccardo! We’re happy to have you!”_  Riccardo recognizes Ricky’s handwriting immediately.  
  
The rest of the staff is not in yet, not even Ricky, which leaves Riccardo alone with Clarence for the time being. The thought definitely does not lessen Riccardo’s uneasiness about his first day – Ricky’s presence would have at least kept his attention elsewhere, no matter how uncomfortable their relationship might be.  
  
Riccardo fishes his new iPad out of his bag and double checks Clarence’s schedule for the day – unnecessary, of course, but it gives him something to focus on – and makes a mental note to arrange a meeting with Clarence’s speechwriter as soon as possible to make sure his address for the Senate will be finished in time.  
  
“You’re late: I said ten minutes, not thirteen,” Clarence notes dryly when Riccardo walks through the connecting door, carrying his tablet and a couple of printouts Ricky had left on the desk. “Where’s my coffee?”  
  
“In the coffeemaker, I presume,” Riccardo snaps before he can stop himself. Clarence is not the pinnacle of punctuality himself, Riccardo remembers as much from their past acquaintance, and Riccardo was not hired to  _make coffee_  for him.  
  
He sets the printouts on Clarence’s desk quickly, staring down at his hands, before taking a step back and silently counting downwards from ten in attempt to keep his cool. Clarence is studying him when he finally looks up and meets his gaze.  
  
“I think you’ve forgotten how things work around here, Montolivo,” Clarence says in a low voice, sounding dangerously calm. “You’re my personal assistant, which means your job is to anticipate and take care of everything that I could possibly need. Talking back isn’t part of that description. I’m sure you didn’t question Prandelli’s requests either, did you?”  
  
“With all due respect, sir,” Riccardo puts extra emphasis on the honorific, “Mayor Prandelli never expected me to read his mind, especially not on my first day. And I’m not your waiter, sir – I’m sure that if you have enough free time to supervise my punctuality, you are also capable of fetching your own coffee,  _sir_.”  
  
To Riccardo’s surprise, Clarence cracks a smile at his words, almost as if he is amused by the reaction. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you? Good thing I didn’t hire you for your charming personality.”  
  
For his credit, Riccardo is only slightly flustered by the comment; while his whole body tenses up as he resists the urge to argue, his face remains carefully blank. They are supposed to work closely together for the whole upcoming election campaign, which means he cannot ruin the tentative ceasefire they seem to have reached for now.  
  
Clarence studies him for a while longer, one eyebrow raised as if in challenge, before he picks up his pen and starts scribbling something on the papers Riccardo just brought in. “I need the preparatory papers for next week’s Infrastructure Committee meeting by tomorrow. They should be in your inbox – print them out, read through them, and clearly mark the important parts. Kaká should be able to help you if there’s any trouble.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Riccardo answers with a sigh of relief – this part of the job he is familiar with. “Would you like me to read through and make notes to your speech for the Senate, too? Or should I just bring it to you when it’s finished?”  
  
“Notes would be good, thank you.” Clarence is not even looking at Riccardo anymore, completely transfixed with the papers in front of him. “Have it on my desk by the afternoon, before we leave for that opening ceremony...”  
  
“I’ll get to work, then,” Riccardo mutters under his breath, not sure whether Clarence actually hears him at all. He turns to walk back to his office, his attention back on the tablet, updating his personal schedule.  
  
“Oh, and Montolivo,” Clarence’s voice stops him in his tracks, one hand on the door knob. “Welcome back. I trust you’ll do fine work in Kaká’s place.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” Riccardo just barely manages to keep the surprise out of his voice.  
  
“And Montolivo – I take my morning coffee black with two sugars. Dark roast. For future reference.”  
  
Riccardo bites back another scathing remark, offering a half-hearted smile at Clarence instead. He makes a mental note to ask Ricky about Clarence’s coffee drinking habits, just to be on the safe side.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ricky finally comes to work when Riccardo is five pages into the preparatory papers, neon green highlighter in hand and hair pulled back in a short ponytail to keep them from falling over his eyes.  
  
“Good morning, Riccardo!” Ricky chirps as he waltzes into his office without knocking – not that it would have made a difference, since Riccardo could see him approaching through the glass wall – carrying a takeaway bag from Starbucks and looking far too chipper for someone Riccardo knows has never been a morning person. “I bought coffee on the way; Clarence never bothers doing it himself.”  
  
He picks up a large takeaway cup from the bag and hands it to Riccardo. “You still drink cappuccino, right?”  
  
Riccardo takes the offered cup with a grateful smile and sets it next to the papers. “Thanks. And thanks for the flowers, too – when did I ever tell you I like lilies? How can you remember stuff like that?”  
  
“You’d be surprised how much I remember,” Ricky answers with a cheery smile, his eyes lingering on Riccardo’s face just a bit too long, making Riccardo’s heart skip a beat. They look away at the exact same time, Ricky clearing his throat before changing subjects. “Clarence hasn’t given you hard time, has he? I swear I meant to come in early today, but Isabella had a fever when she woke up and I couldn’t leave her before I made sure she’d be fine with the babysitter.”  
  
“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Just focus on your job and I’ll do mine, okay?” Riccardo takes a sip of his cappuccino – it has too much sugar, just like Ricky’s coffee always did back when they were still together – and turns his attention back to his work, silently indicating the end of conversation.  
  
Ricky must know the mention of his daughter had reminded Riccardo of their breakup, because he makes no attempt to keep talking. Instead, he disappears into Clarence’s office, their voices through the door too muffled for Riccardo to make any sense of the words. He has a feeling they are talking about him, though. And about coffee, definitely coffee.  
  
Riccardo notices he has made no progress whatsoever only when Ricky exits Clarence’s office and heads for his own, the tip of the highlighter resting on the same word he had marked just before Ricky walked through his door.  
  
He curses under his breath and leans back in his surprisingly comfortable chair, picking up the now cooled and still too sweet cappuccino, emptying the cup with two long gulps, grimacing at the taste but needing the caffeine. He needs to get his shit together, and he needs to do it fast.  
  
  
  
  
  
The next morning, Riccardo picks up takeaway coffee for himself – cappuccino without added sugar – and for Clarence – dark roasted blend, black but with only one sugar, because Riccardo might be making an effort to stay civil, but that does not mean he has to bow to Clarence’s every whim.  
  
  
  
  
  
“You’re speaking at Roma Pride next weekend,” Riccardo informs Clarence as soon as the minister exits his latest committee meeting. He pushes a cup of coffee into Clarence’s hand and opens his boss’s schedule on his tablet, easily falling in step with him as they walk down the corridors of the Italian Parliament. “You’ve got an hour before the lunch meeting with the Deputy Secretary, and then there’s the interview with the  _Gazzetta_  in the afternoon – the blue suit’s waiting in your office, it should look good in the photos.”  
  
“You’re giving me fashion advice now? Living up to the stereotype, aren’t you?” Clarence sips the coffee and makes a disgruntled face that disappears as soon as it appears – Riccardo left out the sugar again – but does not complain for once, probably used to Riccardo’s casual insubordination by now.  
  
“The suit was actually Kaká’s idea. Maybe you should have a talk with him about acting too gay, huh?” Riccardo retorts petulantly, keeping his voice down to make sure no one overhears them. Riccardo has made it perfectly clear that he does not agree with Ricky’s decision to stay in the closet, but that does not mean he would ever out him on purpose – he’s not an idiot, he knows what Ricky has at stake.  
  
Clarence ignores the comment and focuses on his earlier words instead, “Roma Pride— didn’t they finalize the program weeks ago? How’d you manage that?”  
  
“I used to work for Arcigay, remember?” Riccardo cannot help the smugness that sneaks into his voice. “They had a cancellation and I convinced them you’d be the perfect man to comment on same-sex unions. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to get the ball rolling for the general elections, since it’s going to take more than one speech to win over the LGBT folk.”  
  
Clarence takes another sip from his coffee before unlocking the door to his office. “You’re lucky you’re good at your job, Montolivo, because your coffee sucks.”  
  
“And here I thought you hired me for my dashing good looks,” Riccardo deadpans as he follows Clarence inside and heads for his own desk in the corner. He has a stack of paperwork waiting to be sorted and handed to Clarence by the afternoon, before he leaves the minister to his work and heads back to Milan for a couple of days.  
  
Riccardo realizes belatedly Clarence did not shoot down his comment right away, and when he looks up he finds Clarence’s eyes still fixed on him, staring at him in what might be confusion.  
  
“That was a joke, sir. No need to take it so seriously.” Riccardo keeps his voice level, one eyebrow raised in mild interest. Sure, he doesn’t joke around with Clarence often but usually Clarence has a smart retort ready for anything Riccardo says to him.  
  
“…Right,” Clarence says slowly before shaking his head and sitting behind his own desk. “Did that journalist send the questions in advance? I should probably take a look at them.”  
  
“On top of the pile,” Riccardo tells him numbly, still trying to figure out how to interpret Clarence’s reaction. Surely Clarence cannot be so touchy about his own sexuality? A straight family man working closely together with one openly gay man and one closeted bisexual should have more than enough confidence to bypass an innocent quip about his preferences.  
  
On the other hand, this is the same man who forced Riccardo to break up with Ricky, Riccardo reminds himself. It’s been less than a month since he started working for Clarence, so it’s completely possible Riccardo has missed the signs – maybe Clarence is not only a shitty person in general, but also a homophobe?  
  
Maybe Riccardo should cancel the Pride speech, after all…  
  
“That paperwork won’t finish itself, Montolivo.” Clarence has that familiar self-satisfied smirk on his face – the one he has whenever he catches Riccardo zoning out, more often than not because of Ricky – no sign of his earlier distraction visible. “I need those papers for tomorrow’s plenary session; you better finish them in time or I’m cancelling your day off.”  
  
“Slave driver…” Riccardo mutters under his breath and turns his attention back to the papers in front of him, quickly sorting through the written questions the MPs have left in advance, discarding the ones not concerning the ministry lead by Clarence before focusing on the relevant ones.  
  
Riccardo is justifiably surprised how easy it has been to get used to working under Clarence. Despite his initial doubts, it’s not actually that different from his work as Cesare’s personal assistant back in the day, aside from the obvious difference that Cesare’s office was centred in Rome, while Clarence operates between the Parliament in Rome and the local government in Milan. Still, as long as Riccardo has stuck with the strictly professional talk, he has managed to stay on Clarence’s good graces.  
  
“Is everything okay with you and Kaká?”  
  
The question catches Riccardo completely off guard. It is the first time Clarence has brought up his past relationship – he never as much as apologized for almost ruining Riccardo’s career in politics.  
  
“Shouldn’t you know the answer to that?” Riccardo answers the question with a question, his gaze fixed firmly on the papers in front of him. “Since you’re the one who wanted me to put an end to it in the first place.”  
  
“That’s not what I—”  
  
“We’re not fucking, if that’s what you’re asking.”  
  
“I  _know_  that! I just wanted to make sure you were fine working together, after all that happened.”  
  
“We’re good. It was years ago and it’s not like we had a choice in the matter.” Riccardo finally raises his gaze to meet Clarence’s, not bothering to hide the resentment from his expression. It doesn’t matter that breaking up had probably been the only sensible solution for him and Ricky back then – it was still Clarence who had forced Riccardo’s hand.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Clarence is the first to break the eye-contact, the apology spoken to the walls. Riccardo has no idea whether he is apologizing for bringing up the topic or for what he did three years ago. He decides on the latter based on how uncomfortable Clarence looks.  
  
“A bit too late for that, isn’t it?” he asks coldly and returns to his work, or at least pretends to.  
  
They work in silence for the next half an hour, neither of them willing to pick up the conversation again, albeit for very different reasons. Riccardo breathes out a sigh of relief when Clarence finally starts preparing for his lunch meeting – hopefully, he’ll be able to focus on work once he’s left alone in the office.  
  
Clarence is already at the door before he opens his mouth again, releasing his hold on the knob and turning to face Riccardo resolutely. “I just want you to know that I didn’t realize how much my actions would hurt the two of you. Had I known how serious things were between you— I probably would’ve still done something, but I would’ve definitely reconsidered the means.”  
  
Riccardo considers his options: he could accept the obvious apology for what it is and finally let the past go; he could get angry, tell Clarence where exactly he can shove his useless words; or he could dismiss the whole thing and keep going like nothing had changed.  
  
He feels like there is something stuck in his throat, the memory of Ricky’s shocked face when he broke things off with him flashing through his mind. Riccardo had blamed it all on Ricky, on his unwillingness to leave his wife for him.  
  
“You never told Kaká,” Riccardo states simply. “You made me take the fall for the both of you, and he still thinks I left because of  _him_. I don’t think it’s me you should be apologizing to, sir.”  
  
Clarence looks like he has a lot more on his mind, but instead of answering, he glances down at his watch and makes up a half-convincing excuse to leave the room – he still has ten more minutes before his meeting with the Deputy Secretary.  
  
Riccardo, in turn, leans back in his chair and throws an arm over his eyes, trying to pull himself together. For some reason, he feels like laughing, a lone chuckle escaping his lips first, followed by another, and then he cannot stop himself, bitter laughter pushing its way up from his chest.  
  
He finally got his apology. He has no idea why it feels like a punch to the gut.  
  
  
  
  
  
There is still light shining from Ricky’s office when Riccardo returns to Milan – he has a lot on his plate too, the regional elections lurking just around the corner and the opinion polls, while a close call, are still not turning clearly in Clarence’s favour.  
  
Riccardo slips into his office quietly, hoping not to catch Ricky’s attention while he finishes the last bit of paperwork before his long-awaited two days off – it was supposed to be a long weekend, but with Clarence’s Pride speech, Riccardo is needed back in Rome for the weekend. He figures it’s a sacrifice worth making.  
  
“I thought you’d be heading straight home.” Ricky is standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and a tired smile on his face. Ricky never stops smiling. He was smiling even when Riccardo broke up with him.  
  
“I forgot some unfinished paperwork here when I left for Rome. I figured I’d better finish it now, since I was in the neighbourhood anyways.” Riccardo waves the small stack of papers in Ricky’s direction, hoping it will be enough to convince him. There is no point in telling Ricky he needed something to distract himself with or he would spend the whole night thinking about Clarence fucking Seedorf.  
  
“You work too hard,” Ricky tells him softly as he walks into the office. He comes to stand behind Riccardo’s chair and peers over his shoulder at the papers he is working on, hands landing to rest on Riccardo’s shoulders as if by accident. “Those won’t be needed before the end of next week. You should just go home and relax for a few days.”  
  
“Two days, actually,” Riccardo corrects him exhaustedly, leaning back as Ricky starts massaging his shoulders gently. “I’ll go back for Pride – I got that speaker spot for Clarence.”  
  
“All the more reason to go home and enjoy your time off.” Ricky’s hands do not stop, though, which Riccardo takes as a permission to sink deeper into his chair and just forget about their surroundings for a while. Ricky’s thumbs find the most sensitive spots in the back of his neck, the touches almost painful as he works to loosen the tense muscles.  
  
“Do you ever miss it? Us?” Riccardo all but breathes out the question, only half-aware of what he is saying. Ricky’s hands halt only for a second before they continue the massage.  
  
“All the time.” The answer is so honest – so Ricky – that Riccardo feels almost embarrassed for expecting anything different. Ricky has never been anything but honest with him, despite being the one in the closet. He has never promised anything he could not keep; Riccardo had always known Ricky would not leave his wife, which is why it had been so unfair of him to use it as an excuse for their breakup.  
  
“Me too.”  
  
Ricky leans down to press a kiss on top of his head, lingering there, his nose pressed into Riccardo’s hair, while his hands continue their familiar motions on his shoulders. This is how everything had started, all those years ago: Ricky being his friendly self, all smiles and casual touches. Riccardo had fallen for him so hard, long before he even realized what was happening.  
  
“It’s too late for us now, isn’t it?” Riccardo asks softly, reaching up to catch Ricky’s hand with his own, although he keeps his eyes fixed on the desk in front of him.  
  
“I suppose so.” Ricky squeezes his hand gently and for a second Riccardo imagines what it would have been like if they never broke up. Then Ricky pulls back, his hands dropping from his shoulders reluctantly. “Go home, Riccardo. You must be exhausted.”  
  
Riccardo cannot bring himself to argue.  
  
  
  
  
  
Clarence’s speaker skills always manage to take Riccardo by surprise.  
  
Politicians are expected to excel at public speaking, of course, but Clarence has taken it to a completely different level: no matter what he says, he always manages to sound convincing, capturing the audience with seemingly no effort whatsoever, radiating likability — even to Riccardo. It’s what makes him such a good politician.  
  
Riccardo knows his surprise is at least partly due to his dislike for Clarence as a person and his inability to separate his personal views from his professional. No matter how irrational he knows it is, Riccardo always half-expects Clarence to say something insensitive – even when he has read the speech in advance – which is why he is taken aback whenever he finds himself silently agreeing with whatever his boss is saying.  
  
“It’s a good speech,” Cristina says softly from her place next to Riccardo, behind the main stage. “You’re doing a great job – he would’ve never said anything like this before you started working for him.”  
  
It could be because Riccardo practically wrote this particular speech – or at least might as well have, considering he had demanded so many changes to the original version that it was barely recognizable anymore. Riccardo does not tell this to Cristina, though; he merely flashes a half-smile in her direction before his eyes are back on Clarence, lips mouthing the words in time with him.  
  
Once the speech is over, Clarence is rewarded with roaring applause. Riccardo reluctantly joins in, secretly relieved Clarence cannot see him from the stage.  
  
He is yet to confront Clarence about their talk earlier this week, content to avoid any unnecessary communication instead. He knows he can’t keep it up for much longer, though, because it  _bothers_  him, distracting him from his work and even keeps him up at night. He knows he should let it go, forget it ever happened, but he simply cannot.  
  
It takes almost an hour before they can leave the parade, Clarence flocked by Arcigay representatives, reporters, and casual visitors alike. Riccardo has a feeling the publicity from this afternoon alone will serve as the popularity boost they have been waiting for, putting Clarence ahead of the other democrats in their region. Coupled with Milano Pride coming up in a couple of weeks and Expo Milano later this summer, they will be ready to finish up the actual election campaign.  
  
“You’re awfully quiet today, Montolivo. Couldn’t find anything to complain about?” Clarence grins at him when they finally climb into a taxi and head over to Clarence’s Rome apartment to pick up his things before taking the train back to Milan.  
  
“What should I say? It  _was_  my speech,” Riccardo retorts blandly and busies himself with his iPad, checking the major news sites to find out if the speech is online yet. “Mostly good publicity for now, but you should look out for a backlash, especially from the conservatives.”  
  
“That’s to be expected, isn’t it? We’re trying to make a clear distinction from Silvio’s group, after all.”  
  
“That definitely shouldn’t be a problem anymore,” Riccardo agrees absentmindedly, flipping through the headlines quickly. “You should probably take your family with you to Milano Pride – send a message that every family’s the same, regardless of gender and sexuality.”  
  
“Would you look at me when you’re talking to me?” To Riccardo’s credit, he does not flinch when Clarence takes a hold of his arm, the contact forcing Riccardo to snap his head up and meet Clarence’s gaze.  
  
“I’m sorry, sir; I thought your craving for attention was satisfied for the day. I’ll be sure not to repeat the mistake,” Riccardo replies with a mocking smile, holding eye contact until Clarence drops his hand and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.  
  
“And I thought it was common courtesy to look at the people you’re talking to, especially when bringing up personal stuff like their family,” Clarence counters, his tone not quite angry, but definitely not friendly either. “Though maybe I shouldn’t expect too much from you, considering how little consideration you had for Kaká’s family.”  
  
“That’s got nothing to do with this!” Riccardo hisses immediately, glancing at the cabbie to make sure he’s not listening to them. The man pays them no mind, but Riccardo takes a deep breath nonetheless and fights to keep his tone neutral as he continues, “I apologize, Minister Seedorf; I was distracted. I promise it won’t happen again.”  
  
The rest of the ride is spent in complete silence, neither of them daring to say anything more in fear of causing a bigger scene than they already have. Riccardo would not be surprised if tomorrow’s papers focused on the ‘falling out in Seedorf’s camp’ rather than Clarence’s outstanding Pride speech.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Clarence finally says when they are safely inside the apartment. “I shouldn’t have mentioned Kaká – that was unfair of me.”  
  
“Yes, it was.” Riccardo does not meet Clarence’s eyes, still pissed off, not to mention scared he might say something he’ll regret if he as much as looks at his boss.  
  
Clarence is packing up the stacks of papers littering his desk, his suitcase already waiting by the door. He does not say anything, although Riccardo catches him glancing at his direction more than once. It makes Riccardo exceedingly uncomfortable, like he is somehow supposed to know what Clarence is thinking.  
  
Clarence is almost done with packing when Riccardo decides he cannot take the silence anymore. “What’re you looking at? It’s not  _me_  who’s being unreasonable here!”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Clarence repeats calmly, but Riccardo’s last thread of self-control snaps when he opens his mouth and he cannot keep his anger at bay any longer.  
  
“You know what: Fuck you! You know nothing about me. You really think I didn’t  _care_  that Ricky had a family? You think it didn’t bother me every single day we were together? I knew it was wrong – I was beating myself up over it all the time! I can’t even count all the times I wanted to end it! But I couldn’t! I couldn’t do it because I fucking loved him, and no matter how much it hurt, I still thought that maybe one day it’d be different, that one day he might—”  
  
Riccardo’s voice breaks before he can finish. He wipes the few stray tears from his face with the back of his hand, his breath coming out in shallow, angry gasps. Clarence is staring at him, shock written all over his face, having hardly expected Riccardo to blow up like this.  
  
Riccardo closes his eyes for a few seconds, counting down from twenty, willing himself to calm down before he’s able to continue with a much steadier voice, “And you took it upon yourself to break us up, without knowing a first thing about us. It wasn’t your place. You had no right to interfere with our private lives. And you definitely had no right to use our relationship for your own political gain.”  
  
He takes a staggering breath after he finishes, holding Clarence’s gaze challengingly. For some reason, he feels much better now, even though his outburst might have just cost him his job. He doesn’t even care that some of his anger at Clarence might have been misplaced – a mixture of self-loathing, bitterness at Ricky’s marriage, and resentment toward Clarence, toward Berlusconi, and toward the world of politics in general.  
  
“What am I supposed to say?” Clarence asks quietly, taking a step towards Riccardo. “I’ve already apologized to you, more than once. I can’t undo what I did, and I can’t help thinking that in the end, ending your relationship was still the right call, even if the means were wrong.”  
  
Clarence is standing right in front of him, not breaking eye contact, and Riccardo cannot step back or look away, his body momentarily refusing to cooperate with his brain.  
  
“You can quit if you want to; I’m not stopping you. I honestly have no idea why you took the job in the first place if you hate me so much.” Clarence’s voice is low and steady, a clear contrast to Riccardo’s earlier fit of temper. “But if you want to continue working for me, we’re going to have to find an adult way to handle our differences. We’ll never be friends, that much is clear, but we should at least learn to appreciate each other’s work, don’t you think?”  
  
Clarence speaks slowly, his lips forming every word carefully, and he is so close, too close, and Riccardo cannot stop staring. He realizes Clarence must have asked him something only because he stops talking and looks at him expectantly.  
  
“So… I’m not fired?”  
  
Clarence is an attractive man, Riccardo would have to be blind not to notice that. However, he has never even considered the possibility before – Clarence is straight, after all, not to mention Riccardo has hated his guts as long as he can remember.  
  
“No, you’re not.”  
  
The corner of Clarence’s mouth curls up into an amused half-smile. Breath catches in Riccardo’s throat, because Clarence is leaning even closer, so close that Riccardo can actually feel his breath on his face. He is freaking out inwardly but unable to move away, sick curiosity filling his mind, his whole body tensing with anticipation.  
  
“Good, because I happen to like this job, all things considered.” The answer comes out barely louder than a whisper, his voice gone along with his sanity.  
  
Clarence is touching his neck, fingertips ghosting over his pulse point. Riccardo tries to swallow down the piece stuck in his throat and licks his lips instinctively. Clarence’s breath feels cool against the wet lips.  
  
A familiar melody snaps Riccardo back into focus, his phone vibrating in his pocket insistently, and he jumps back quickly, as if Clarence’s touch burned him. He turns his back to Clarence pointedly as he fishes out his phone. The screen reads  _Kaká_  and Riccardo dismisses a spike of guilt along with the call – there is no way he can have a normal conversation with Ricky right now.  
  
“I’ve got the rest of the weekend off, right?” He tries to sound as normal as possible as he glances at Clarence over his shoulder, even though every cell of his body is telling him to get as far away from his boss as possible.  
  
Clarence only manages a nod, the stunned expression on his face probably mirroring Riccardo’s own.  
  
“I think I’ll go back to the parade, then. I can catch a later train on my own.”  
  
Riccardo does not stick around to wait for Clarence to find his voice again, afraid that this time he might actually be fired. Better take some distance from the whole situation, some time for the both of them to figure out what happened.  
  
As he half-jogs, half-runs out of the apartment building and chooses a road at random – anywhere is better than here – Riccardo can think of only one thing: Clarence had been about to kiss him, and he was going to let him do it.  
  
Another thought pops into his mind as he hails a taxi a few blocks down: no wonder Clarence had been so sensitive about his relationship with Ricky.

 

 

Returning to work after Pride weekend goes much smoother than Riccardo expected. Aside from a few stolen glances, Clarence acts no differently than usual. At times, Riccardo can almost convince himself he’d imagined the whole almost-kiss fiasco.  
  
They still stick with a strictly professional approach whenever they need to communicate. Riccardo still refuses to add right amount of sugar in Clarence’s coffee; Clarence has actually stopped complaining about the taste. Ricky is still around, all smiles and casual touches; Riccardo’s heart still flutters a bit differently whenever they’re alone in the same room.  
  
“I read through the  _Gazzetta_  interview; it looks fine but you should probably check the quotes before sending them your OK.” Riccardo hands the copy to Clarence over the table, but instinctively flinches back when their hands brush against each other, the paper slipping from his fingers and falling on top of Clarence’s ever-growing pile of paperwork.  
  
Riccardo’s face feels hot – he’s probably blushing like a schoolgirl – and he looks pointedly over Clarence’s shoulder as they both apologize at the same time.  
  
This is what is different: Riccardo has no idea how to act around Clarence now that he knows the attraction is there. Clarence does not seem to be faring much better. It’s frustrating, because before this, Riccardo would have never given Clarence a second glance, not with his personality and their shared past. He knows that even now, his feelings for Clarence can hardly be described as anything even close to affection or – God forbid – a crush.  
  
But the attraction is there and it makes all the difference.  
  
“I need you to sign a few general press releases as well. I’ll have them on your desk by lunchtime.”  
  
“Thank you, Montolivo.” Clarence’s gaze lingers on him a bit longer than necessary – or maybe Riccardo’s paying closer attention now that he knows what to look for – but then he dismisses him with a wave of his hand as he returns to his work.  
  
“What’s up with Clarence?” Ricky is sitting in Riccardo’s chair when he returns to his office, spinning around happily, two cups of takeaway coffee and a bag from a nearby bakery on the desk. “He’s been acting strange since he came back from Rome. Did something happen with the party leaders?”  
  
Riccardo forces a confused frown on his face. “I don’t think so? He seems like his usual insufferable self to me. You sure it’s not just the stress from the upcoming elections?”  
  
“Possibly.” Ricky flashes another smile at Riccardo and pushes one of the cups towards him. “I got pastries too, fresh from the oven. You never eat proper lunch so I figured I’ve got to start feeding you again.”  
  
Ricky always used to complain that Riccardo’s meal schedule was all over the place.  
  
“You really think getting more caffeine into my system is going to help?” Riccardo asks bemusedly as he tastes the coffee. It is not too sweet, for once. Maybe Ricky is finally starting to learn something. “I’m not your responsibility anymore, Ricky.”  
  
“I know, I know,” Ricky laughs as he pushes the bakery bag in his direction, beaming happily when, despite his grumbling, Riccardo chooses one of the pastries and bites into it. “Actually, I just wanted to have some for myself, but Carol’s been telling me I should look out for my figure. You’re my excuse.”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with your figure,” Riccardo argues, crumbs flying from his mouth because he can’t be bothered to swallow first. Ricky makes a face at his table manners and chooses a pastry for himself as well.  
  
Riccardo swallows and takes a sip from his coffee before he returns to the topic, without the flying crumbs this time. “I mean, if anything, you’re skinnier than when I first met you. No way a few pastries are gonna ruin that. This is why I told you to leave her…”  
  
Riccardo snaps his mouth shut when he realizes he said the last part aloud. They have never joked around about Ricky’s marriage, not even back when they were together. Damn.  
  
But instead of changing the subject, Ricky actually lets out a humourless chuckle and meets Riccardo’s eyes sadly. “Yeah, you were probably right.”  
  
Riccardo has no idea what to answer to that, so he just stuffs half a pastry into his mouth and munches on it wordlessly. Ricky really should stop saying things like that – how on earth is Riccardo supposed to get over their breakup when Ricky keeps giving him false hope?  
  
When exactly did his life turn into a fucking soap opera? Riccardo does not even consider himself that good-looking, and yet it appears he has not one but two extremely attractive married closet cases pining over him. Riccardo would give anything if the two could be changed into one average-looking openly gay man, but it seems he’s out of luck.  
  
“You’ve got some sugar there,” Ricky says with a gentle smile and before Riccardo can stop him, he reaches over the desk and wipes the corner of Riccardo’s mouth with his thumb.  
  
“Aren’t you busy with something?” Riccardo asks quickly, turning to look away as Ricky starts licking the sugar off his own fingers. “I need to finish the press releases before Clarence leaves for lunch, so if you could—”  
  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you from your work,” Ricky apologizes easily and gets up from Riccardo’s chair. “I just miss the chair – much more comfy than my new one.”  
  
“I’m not swapping; it’s mine now.” Riccardo brushes past Ricky, maybe a bit closer than absolutely necessary, and slumps into his inarguably comfortable chair, grinning at Ricky smugly. Ricky only chuckles good-naturedly and picks up his coffee and the bakery bag before heading out, probably to feed the rest of the pastries to the campaign staff.  
  
At least Ricky’s visit worked as a distraction – Riccardo actually finishes the press releases without thinking about the Clarence situation even once.  
  
  
  
  
  
“You do know picking up Clarence’s suits from the dry cleaner’s isn’t part of your job description, right?” Ricky is rolling around in Riccardo’s chair again, watching as he packs up for the night.  
  
“It’s not just his suits, it’s his wife’s dress for tomorrow, too,” Riccardo reminds him absentmindedly as he collects the last of his paperwork and stuffs them into his messenger bag, not caring if he crumbles them. He should have the copies on his laptop too, it is just the matter of finding them. “And I need to drop off the final version of his speech to his house anyways, so it’s no trouble at all.”  
  
“You could just use email like the rest of us,” Ricky points out with a raised eyebrow. Riccardo half-expects him to call him a workaholic next. He is not entirely wrong. “You’re stressing too much about tomorrow – he did fine in Rome too, didn’t he?”  
  
“You do remember I cancelled my long weekend just to be in Rome for his speech, don’t you? I didn’t exactly trust him to do well back then either,” Riccardo notes sardonically. He pokes Ricky’s side gently before picking up his jacket. “Now, get out of my office so I can lock up for the night.”  
  
“I still have the keys…” Ricky grumbles but gets up anyways, following Riccardo to the door. “And you just proved my point. You stressing changes nothing; Clarence will be fine even without you fussing over him.”  
  
“I’m not  _fussing_ ,” Riccardo argues with a laugh, turning to face Ricky properly. “I’m just helping out, because that’s what PAs do – don’t tell me you never picked up his laundry when you were in my place.”  
  
“Unlike you, I never claimed to hate him, though. I’m starting to feel like I should be jealous…”  
  
Riccardo’s playful smile falls immediately. They’ve been getting too close in these past few weeks, Ricky must have noticed it as well. After the whole thing with Clarence, Riccardo had actually welcomed the distraction, but he knows he needs to draw the line somewhere before they end up right back where they started.  
  
“We need to stop this, Ricky. There was a reason we broke up; I don’t want to go down that road again.”  
  
“Sorry, I can’t help it.” Ricky is still smiling – he always does – but now it looks almost mournful, like a mixture of wistfulness and forcibly subdued hope. “I really thought I was over you, you know? That I could be just friends with you and not fall in love again.”  
  
“That’s not helping,” Riccardo retorts softly, both hands clutching his bag in a desperate attempt not to reach out for Ricky. It’s not worth it, no matter how much he wants it; nothing will change as long as Ricky stays with Carol; they will only end up hurting each other again, just like last time.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Ricky whispers as he inches closer, stepping right into Riccardo’s personal space, hands rising to caress the back of his neck gently. Riccardo’s hold on his bag loosens when Ricky kisses him, and he grabs Ricky’s shoulders instead, clutching his shirt tightly inside his fists.  
  
The way Ricky kisses has not changed at all in three years. He is almost hesitant at first, as if expecting Riccardo to push him away, but he gains confidence the moment he feels Riccardo returning the kiss. Even so, he lets Riccardo take the initiative, opening his mouth only when Riccardo caresses his lips with his tongue, mirroring Riccardo’s actions without hesitation but not trying to control the kiss.  
  
Riccardo’s brain has gone blank, the sounds of his guilty conscience silenced, and all he can think, feel, breathe, is  _Ricky, Ricky, Ricky_ … Ricky’s arms are around his waist now, pulling him closer, until they are pressed flush against each other, so close Riccardo can practically feel Ricky’s heartbeat against his own ribcage.  
  
Riccardo’s senses return to him slowly, one at a time, which is why it takes so long from the first  _‘This is wrong’_  registering in his brain until he actually pushes Ricky away, breaking the kiss reluctantly and stepping back, hands dropping down to his sides uselessly.  
  
“I told you to stop.” It’s hard to breathe, his chest feels painfully tight and the lack of air makes his head dizzy. This isn’t supposed to happen, not like this, not here, not now. Riccardo does not want to go back to what they used to be – the secrecy, the guilt, and the pain of knowing it will never get better, all of it slowly tearing them apart.  
  
Ricky is still right there, standing in Riccardo’s personal space. He is not smiling anymore; he looks close to tears, rejected and heartbroken, exactly how Riccardo is feeling, too.  
  
“I can’t do it, Ricky,” he whispers with a surprisingly steady voice. He needs to do this right. “I’ve seen how this ends, we both have. There’s no happy ending for us, never will be. I can’t live like that anymore.”  
  
“It could be different,” Ricky argues quietly, but there is no conviction in his voice. They both know Riccardo is right.  
  
“It could. But it won’t be.” Riccardo crouches down to pick up his fallen bag and flings it over his shoulder, turning his back to Ricky because he cannot handle seeing his broken expression any longer. He’d known taking this job was a bad idea. “I have to get to the dry cleaner’s before they close. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”  
  
Riccardo doesn’t wait for Ricky’s answer, escaping through the door without another glance, taking the stairs instead of waiting for the lift to arrive.  
  
He allows himself to stop and take a long breath only when he is safely inside his car, clutching the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white as he stares through the windscreen without seeing a thing.  
  
  
  
  
  
Clarence lives in a detached house about a twenty-minute drive from the city. Although ‘house’ might not be the correct word for it – ‘mansion’ fits much better, in Riccardo’s opinion.  
  
He has driven past the place before, but this is the first time Riccardo actually drives through the massive gates and down the private driveway, parking the car next to Clarence’s Maserati in front of the main entrance.  
  
Riccardo half-expects a butler to let him in, so he is faintly disappointed when it’s Clarence himself who meets him at the door. He’s changed out of his usual suit, wearing only grey slacks and a black loose-fitting long sleeve shirt – the look suits him, albeit in an unfamiliar way to Riccardo who has grown used to always seeing him in formal attire.  
  
“You look like shit. Something happen?” Clarence comments when Riccardo steps into the brightly-lit lobby, revealing his disheveled state – he’d tried to make himself presentable in the rear-view mirror before stopping at the dry cleaner’s, but obviously his effort had been for nothing.  
  
“Just a long day, I guess,” Riccardo mumbles, holding out the garment bags for Clarence to take. Clarence raises his eyebrows skeptically but keeps whatever comment he has to himself, waving Riccardo to follow him instead.  
  
They end up in a softly-lit sitting room – probably the one Clarence uses to entertain his political guests, judging from the relatively unlived-in look of the room and the open door at the back leading to his study. Riccardo follows Clarence’s order to leave the garment bags on the coat rack by the door before following him inside.  
  
“Figures you’d have a pool table at your house…” Riccardo says blandly, reaching out to toy with the nine-ball, eyes fixed on the green cloth. Somehow, he feels like Clarence might see right through him if he actually makes eye contact. “Does anything in your life  _not_  scream filthy rich?”  
  
“Well, my daughters still don’t listen to a word I say. Does that count?”  
  
“Did you just make a joke, sir?” Riccardo chuckles automatically, although he does not feel like laughing at all. He flicks his wrist and the ball goes rolling, breaking the small cluster on the other end of the table.  
  
Rationally thinking, Riccardo knows that lingering in Clarence’s house is only going to make his situation worse. He should just go through the finished speech with Clarence and leave as quickly as possible, but he can’t bring himself to move, his mind still firmly at the office with Ricky.  
  
“Where’re your children, anyways? I thought they’d be home at this hour?” Being alone with Clarence in his house does not help, either. Riccardo finds himself wishing Clarence’s children would prove him wrong by barging into the room but the house remains silent.  
  
“Luviana took them to a friend’s house before the school board meeting; they’ll be out for a while longer.”  
  
“Is that so?” Riccardo’s tone turns the question into a statement. He uses two fingers to roll the five-ball around on the table, following the movement with his eyes. Ricky would hate him if he knew what he was thinking right now.  
  
“What happened, Montolivo?” Clarence’s patience is obviously growing thin, and Riccardo cannot really blame him. Their professional relationship is strained enough as it is, without Riccardo acting completely out of character in front of him. “I know it might be hard, considering your past, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let your personal problems affect your work.”  
  
“That’s rich, coming from you…” Riccardo glances up at Clarence with a bitter smile, but regrets it immediately when he sees the genuine concern on his boss’s face.  
  
Maybe Ricky  _should_  hate him. Maybe it would be easier to let go if he did.  
  
Clarence’s “What’s that supposed to mean?” and Riccardo’s “Do you want to fuck me?” come out almost at the same time, followed by a stunned silence. Clarence is staring at Riccardo with unadulterated shock.  
  
Riccardo licks his lips and repeats the question slowly: “Do you want to fuck me, sir?”  
  
“I’m not gay,” Clarence points out needlessly, but Riccardo can see the same desire in his eyes that was there back in Rome, when Clarence had been about to kiss him.  
  
“That’s not an answer.”  
  
“I have a family.”  
  
“So does Ricky.”  
  
Riccardo is threading on thin ice, but he’s well past caring. It’s either this or quitting his job altogether. Hell, he’ll probably have to resign no matter what he does.  
  
“So something did happen with Kaká?”  
  
Instead of answering, Riccardo strides over to Clarence and kisses him hard, hands curling around the back of his neck, holding him in place, satisfied only when Clarence returns the kiss.  
  
Kissing Clarence is nothing like kissing Ricky – once Clarence starts kissing him back, Riccardo loses all control of the situation, their mouths crushing together almost painfully, Clarence’s teeth scraping his lower lip and tongue heavy inside his mouth. It’s better this way, Riccardo decides, as Clarence presses him back against the pool table, still not breaking the kiss; this way, he can just let Clarence do as he pleases without thinking too much.  
  
Clarence is bucking his hips against Riccardo’s, his cock hard against Riccardo’s thigh. Riccardo is hard too; it’s been months since he slept with anyone, and after weeks of secretly fantasizing about both Clarence and Ricky, his body is more than ready for some real action.  
  
“I don’t—” Clarence breaks the kiss to speak against Riccardo’s lips, but he cuts his admission short, probably uncertain what he’d wanted to say in the first place. His breathing is laboured as he lunges in to kiss Riccardo again, hands dropping down to squeeze his ass through his dress pants.  
  
Riccardo could make a few educated guesses as to what Clarence had been about to say. As far as he knows, Clarence has never fucked a guy before, which would suggest a whole set of issues he is struggling to grasp. It could also be something about not wanting to cheat on his wife, not wanting to break Ricky’s trust, not wanting to sleep with a co-worker, or simply not wanting to sleep with Riccardo, specifically.  
  
“You want me,” Riccardo whispers against Clarence’s lips, his voice trembling, a reassurance both to Clarence and himself. He brushes his lips against Clarence’s one more time, chuckling softly when Clarence tries to deepen the kiss again. He drops to his knees unceremoniously, pressing his mouth and nose against the bulge between Clarence’s legs, looking up at him expectantly – waiting for him to ask for it.  
  
“I want you,” Clarence confirms quietly, eyes fixed on Riccardo, lust deepening his voice. “God, do I want you.”  
  
“Good,” Riccardo mumbles against his crotch as he starts working on the fly of his slacks with trembling fingers. The pressure makes Clarence let out a soft groan and a muffled “Fuck.”  
  
Riccardo is not particularly surprised to find out Clarence’s cock is huge – probably the biggest he has ever blown – because clothes can’t hide everything. Clarence never struck him as a guy that was lacking in any department — aside from maybe social skills.  
  
He wastes no time admiring Clarence’s fine cock before taking the tip into his mouth and sucking on it experimentally. Clarence responds by bucking his hips, almost making Riccardo choke with the sudden movement. Riccardo releases the cock only long enough to click his tongue in disapproval before diving in again, pleased to note that Clarence takes the hint right away, keeping reasonably still this time around.  
  
Riccardo doesn’t believe in deep-throating – he never saw the point of learning something deemed necessary because that is how the porn stars do it – but he does manage to take half of Clarence’s cock into his mouth without choking. He wraps his fingers around the hilt, making sure Clarence stays put. He strokes the length firmly as he pulls back to take a breath before focusing on the tip with his lips and tongue.  
  
“Dear God,” Clarence groans, his breathing heavy and voice stretched thin. He reaches one hand down to caress Riccardo’s hair, fingers tangling in his curls but not forcing his movements. Riccardo’s gaze flickers up to meet with Clarence’s momentarily, before he closes his eyes and focuses on bringing his boss over the edge.  
  
It takes only a few moments before Clarence’s hold on his hair tightens and his hips jerk against his mouth involuntarily, his body obviously preparing for the orgasm. Riccardo takes the cock deeper into his mouth carefully and does not stop Clarence from moving this time, simply holding his breath when Clarence bucks against the back of his mouth, subduing his choke reflex until he can taste Clarence’s sperm on his tongue.  
  
He cannot stop the coughing fit that comes after he releases the cock, though, a thread of come dripping down his chin. He wipes it away with the back of his hand and licks it off before he realizes Clarence is still looking down at him, eyes clouded with pleasure and amazement.  
  
“I’m good, aren’t I?” Riccardo offers him a satisfied smile, standing up slowly, trying to ignore the erection rubbing painfully against the inside of his trousers. He leans in to kiss Clarence again, slower this time, giving him enough time to taste his own come on Riccardo’s tongue before pulling away. “Now, if you’ve got something that’d work as lube, I could show you how to prep me so that next time we could actually get to the ‘fucking’ part.”  
  
There is a moment of hesitation – just enough for Riccardo to think Clarence has finally come back to his senses – and then Clarence smiles and offers his hand to Riccardo. “I think I might have something in my office.”  
  
Riccardo feels like the lowest scum imaginable as he follows Clarence into his office and looks on as he locks the door behind them.  
  
He tries to console himself with the fact that while what he is doing is wrong, it’s Clarence who made the decision to cheat on his wife. He is only half successful and, as a result, is left with a feeling of emptiness all too familiar for him.  
  
  
  
  
  
“So, did you and Ricky ever—?” Riccardo deliberately trails off before he can finish the sentence, raising his eyebrows suggestively at Clarence when he looks at him from the bathroom door. It is a question he has been dying to ask ever since he found out about Clarence’s sexuality.  
  
They are in Riccardo’s apartment – the safest place for them to have sex without getting caught or having to answer uncomfortable questions – with almost an hour to spare before Clarence is expected at City Hall. Riccardo is lounging on his couch, naked, legs thrown over the armrest and neck twisted painfully in order to see Clarence returning to the living room.  
  
He is fully clothed already.  
  
“Of course not! Kaká’s my friend, and I’m not gay,” Clarence answers the question with a dismissive huff. He sits down on the armchair across from the couch, though, which Riccardo takes as a permission to keep talking for now.  
  
“Sure you’re not,” Riccardo retorts dryly, stretching himself, his back arching with a soft cracking sound. He’s acutely aware of Clarence’s eyes following his every movement. “Bi, then? I’m not buying that ‘straight’ bullshit when you had your cock up my ass less than fifteen minutes ago.”  
  
It has come as a surprise to both of them that while they never seemed to be on the same page before they started sleeping together, things seem to have managed to reach an equilibrium now that they have. Sure, they’ll never be friends in the traditional sense of the word, but at least now they can have full conversations without insulting each other more than once or twice.  
  
And the sex is great.  
  
“Let’s just agree you’re the exception to the rule,” Clarence shrugs off the comment, just like he always does when the topic of his sexuality comes up. Riccardo assumes it’s some kind of a coping mechanism; as long as Clarence stays in denial, he won’t have to consider the repercussions of sleeping with Riccardo.  
  
That’s why Riccardo keeps probing, in hope that one of these days Clarence will wake up and face reality – that way, the unavoidable decision to end things between them will fall on Clarence.  
  
“As flattering as it is to think you turned gay for me, I’m pretty sure that’s not how sexual orientation works.” Riccardo scratches his belly and turns to his side, properly facing Clarence. “So, Ricky doesn’t know about you? Maybe you should tell him. You could start a club – Berlu’s Closet Cases United.”  
  
“Is that why you’re doing this?” Clarence’s too sharp gaze is suddenly focused on Riccardo’s face. “You’re using me as an excuse so you won’t have to deal with whatever happened between you and Kaká. You actually  _want_  me to tell him, because that way you can blame it on me again when things go south.”  
  
“Why don’t you figure out your own shit before analyzing mine?” Riccardo counters, doing his best not to show how close to home Clarence’s observation hit. For someone so stuck in his own denial, Clarence can be insufferably observant when it comes to Riccardo’s flaws.  
  
Riccardo is pretty deep in denial himself.  
  
“Put some clothes on, will you?” Clarence simply tells him instead of arguing. He picks up Riccardo’s shirt from the floor and throws it at him. “We need to get going soon, and you’re very distracting like that.”  
  
“What, no second round?” Riccardo feigns a disappointed face as he sits up and pulls the shirt over his shoulders. It is a bit wrinkled, but nothing too noticeable; he would rather look a bit unkempt than answer questions of why he had to change clothes in the middle of the workday.  
  
“Don’t tempt me, Montolivo.”  
  
“Well, we  _do_  still have at least fifteen minutes to spare…”  
  
“For God’s sake, just get dressed already!”  
  
  
  
  
  
Riccardo has realized over time that it is almost laughably easy to pretend he doesn’t care – sometimes he imagines that if he pretends hard enough, he’ll manage to convince himself it is the truth.  
  
This thing with Clarence is simple: they fuck, they bicker, and then they go back to work as if nothing’s changed between them. It’s easy for Riccardo, because with Clarence, he doesn’t have to pretend; with Clarence, he truly doesn’t give a shit. With Clarence, it’s all about sex – amazing sex, yes, but ultimately just sex – nothing more, nothing less.  
  
However, there are moments when Riccardo is reminded that nothing is nearly as clear-cut as he would like it to be, not even his affair with Clarence.  
  
One of those moments happens one week prior to the regional elections, when Clarence and Luviana make one of their many TV appearances: a light-hearted chat, talking about their relationship and home life, about romance and all the sacrifices they’ve had to make for Clarence’s career.  
  
Riccardo is sitting on set, half-hidden behind one of the cameras. He’s only half-listening to the interview, shuffling through Clarence’s schedule on his iPad instead, double-checking all his appointments for election week and mentally calculating the transition times they will need to consider in order to get everywhere on time.  
  
He happens to look up when Luviana starts talking about the importance of trust – “It’s the basis for everything. Clarence spends so much time away from home; I’d drive myself mad with jealousy if I didn’t trust him with all my heart...” – and he cannot help but glance at Clarence who is staring right back at him.  
  
Their eye contact lasts no more than a second before Clarence turns his attention back to the interviewer, but the damage has already been done: the all-too-familiar pang of guilt has found its way into Riccardo’s chest.  
  
It’s different from the guilt he used to feel when he was with Ricky, mostly due to the conspicuous lack of jealousy when he looks at Clarence and his wife. In a way, it makes the feeling worse, because this time there’d been a conscious choice. Riccardo had started sleeping with Clarence because it was convenient, something to distract himself from the mess of his relationship with Ricky. He’d made the first move, he’d encouraged Clarence to act on his urges, and he’d barely given a thought to Clarence’s family in the process.  
  
He’s repeating his old mistakes all over again, and this time he can’t even claim he was too blinded by love to have properly considered his actions.  
  
Clarence is looking at him again when Riccardo looks up, his expression unreadable. Riccardo has a feeling he’s not the only one experiencing a sudden guilt trip.  
  
Clarence’s eyes stay on him far longer than necessary – Riccardo has to get away, go somewhere where he can keep pretending.  
  
He hides in the media house’s cafeteria until the end of the interview, drowning himself in cup after cup of barely drinkable coffee. The pestering nag of guilt does not subside.  
  
  
  
  
  
“We need to stop this.”  
  
Clarence doesn’t appear particularly surprised by Riccardo’s words, having probably come to a similar conclusion himself after the interview. It is the only sensible solution, after all.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“It should’ve never happened. I’m sorry for letting it get so out of hand.” Riccardo is shifting his weight from one foot to another, swaying in place, suddenly feeling completely out of place in Clarence’s office, standing up while Clarence is securely seated behind his desk.  
  
“Don’t apologize. You’re making it sound like you forced me into doing something I didn’t want to.”  
  
“I feel like I kind of did,” Riccardo admits softly, not daring to meet Clarence’s eyes. “I knew you were attracted to me and took advantage of that, for my own selfish reasons. I know it could’ve happened anyway, but there’s also a chance that nothing would’ve come out of it. In that sense, I’m responsible for what happened.”  
  
“Come here, Montolivo.” Clarence gestures for him to walk over, and Riccardo follows the order reluctantly. He knows what is coming even before Clarence takes a hold of his hand and pulls him into his lap, knees fitting comfortably on each side of Clarence’s thighs on his massive office chair.  
  
“You’re making it really hard for me to break up with you, sir,” Riccardo grumbles when Clarence splays his palms on his backside, even though his own arms have wrapped around Clarence’s shoulders on their own accord. “Last time I checked, ‘stop this’ wasn’t code for ‘office sex’.”  
  
“Hush, I’m only trying to make a point,” Clarence tells him with a chuckle, his hands fondling Riccardo’s buttocks possessively. Riccardo’s body is embarrassingly fast to react to his touches.  
  
“Pretty sure ‘making a point’ doesn’t mean ‘office sex’ either, sir,” Riccardo argues, but there is no conviction in his voice. Whatever point Clarence is trying to make, Riccardo is pretty sure he is succeeding. Especially if that point has anything to do with office sex.  
  
“Kiss me,” Clarence orders, his breath a cool brush against Riccardo’s lips, and Riccardo has no will to argue – he leans in and catches Clarence’s lips with his own, so familiar by now, strong and possessive, everything that Ricky is not.  
  
Riccardo is shivering by the time they break the kiss, his erection pressed between their bodies, the tips of Clarence’s fingers pressing against his entrance through his trousers.  
  
“See? Do you really think we could’ve avoided this?” Clarence asks quietly, his lips brushing against Riccardo’s with each word. “It’s wrong and it shouldn’t have happened, that much we can agree on. But this? This became inevitable the moment you started working for me.”  
  
Riccardo whimpers as Clarence probes his anus, the thin material of his underwear digging into his crack. And Riccardo gets it: as incompatible as he and Clarence might be in any other area, in terms of physical attraction Riccardo has never met anyone who came even close to what Clarence does to him.  
  
“Then I quit, effective immediately,” Riccardo breathes out before he draws Clarence into another kiss, open-mouthed and messy. If losing his job is what it takes to break things off with Clarence, then Riccardo considers it a small price to pay.  
  
“I accept your resignation,” Clarence answers between the kisses, hands moving to Riccardo’s belt and pulling it open expertly. “Now get your pants off.”  
  
Riccardo follows the order without question, standing up to kick off his trousers and underwear. He watches with an appraising look as Clarence does the same before climbing back into his lap and claiming his mouth for another kiss.  
  
Clarence has a small bottle of lube stashed in his desk drawer – Riccardo does not even pretend to be surprised – and he wastes no time, coating his hand with the clear gel and pushing first one and then two fingers inside Riccardo. The pain registers in Riccardo’s mind only momentarily, but then he’s far too gone to care.  
  
It feels like the time stops when Clarence pushes into him, his brain shutting down momentarily, and for a while his whole world is centred on the man holding him, touching him, fucking him…  
  
And as soon as it begins, it is also over, the waves of climax crashing over Riccardo, his every sound swallowed into the kiss that only ends long after they have completely spent themselves.  
  
It is as good a closure as any.  
  
“Are you going to talk to Kaká?” Clarence asks once they are both dressed, Riccardo fixing his hair from his reflection on the window, trying to make himself appear a bit less thoroughly fucked.  
  
“We’re not exactly in speaking terms at the moment,” Riccardo replies after a moment’s consideration. “And I doubt he’s going to appreciate me leaving without a proper explanation for the second time.”  
  
“You could try telling the truth.”  
  
“What, and out you to him in the process?” Riccardo glances over his shoulder at Clarence, smirking humourlessly. “It’s not my secret to tell. Just tell him whatever you like, I’ve messed things up bad enough already, no need to prolong the suffering.”  
  
“For a smart man, you can be such a moron sometimes, Montolivo.”  
  
“I could say the same to you, sir.”  
  
“It was a pleasure working with you, as long as it lasted.”  
  
“I quite enjoyed the sex too, sir.”  
  
“Get out of my sight, Montolivo.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“And your coffee still sucks.”  
  
“The pleasure’s all mine, sir.”  
  
  
  
  
  
Ricky is speaking on the TV, all smiles and laughs and victory signs.  
  
Everyone had expected Clarence to win the election, but no one could have predicted the landslide victory they’d pulled off in the last few days of the campaign – it was a huge victory for Clarence, yes, but it was also an amazing accomplishment for Ricky as his campaign manager.  
  
Riccardo cannot concentrate on Ricky’s words, his brain buzzing pleasantly from all the alcohol he’s consumed that night. Cristina is leaning her forehead on his shoulder, quietly giggling at something Ricky – or maybe it was the reporter – just said.  
  
“Can you be any more obvious?” Cristina asks when the broadcast cuts off from Ricky’s face and Riccardo’s heart sinks a little. “I came here to get drunk with you, not to watch you make doe eyes at the TV for the whole night.”  
  
“Am not,” Riccardo slurs and sinks a bit deeper into his couch. “It’s just frustrating. I should be there, too.”  
  
“Shouldn’t have quit then,” Cristina deadpans and flops down right on top of Riccardo, her head rested comfortably in his lap. “Maybe he would’ve even given you a kiss to celebrate the victory...”  
  
Riccardo almost asks which man Cristina is referring to, but bites his tongue in the last second. It wouldn’t do for him to accidentally out their prospective future prime minister.  
  
“You’re cute when you blush.” Cristina is giggling again, poking Riccardo’s belly with one of her well-manicured fingers. It actually hurts – her nails are sharp as fuck – and Riccardo tries to recoil from the onslaught with an indignant whine.  
  
His phone starts ringing right when Clarence takes the stage together with his family. He has one arm wrapped around Luviana’s waist and the other is holding the hand of one of their daughters – Riccardo racks his brain for her name but comes up empty. He is fairly sure he  _should_  remember it.  
  
“You gonna answer that?” Cristina asks, reaching out to pick up Riccardo’s phone from the coffee table, almost falling off the couch in the process. “Oh look, it’s your knight in shining armour!”  
  
Before Riccardo can stop her, she has accepted the call and lifted the phone to her own ear. “Congratulations on the victory! Yes, we’re watching; you looked amazing, very professional. Riccardo? Sure, he’s right here, wanna talk to him?”  
  
She offers the phone to Riccardo, fluttering her lashes in feigned innocence. “He’s asking for you.”  
  
Riccardo takes the phone reluctantly, lifting it to his ear and humming a noncommittal sound to let Ricky know he is listening. There are sounds of celebration coming from the other end, but it is muffled, as if Ricky had left the party venue in order to call him.  
  
“Riccardo, you there?” Ricky sounds as uncertain as Riccardo is feeling. They have barely talked since that unfortunate kiss all those weeks ago, although that has been mostly down to Riccardo actively avoiding Ricky.  
  
“You’re missing Clarence’s victory speech,” Riccardo informs him flatly, his eyes fixed on Clarence’s beaming face on the TV screen. “He’s thanking you for all your hard work – he couldn’t have done this without you. And I think the cameras are looking for you now: they’re sweeping the audience.”  
  
“We couldn’t have done it without you, either.”  
  
Riccardo huffs out a mirthless chuckle. “You seem to be doing just fine.”  
  
“You’ve only been gone for a week; we’ve hardly had time to miss you yet.”  
  
Cristina is making kissy faces at Riccardo, who scowls and pushes her off his lap in response, then stands up and walks into the kitchen to get some privacy, kicking the door closed behind him. “Trust me, you won’t. You’ll both be better off without me.”  
  
Ricky is quiet for a long time. Riccardo is starting to suspect he has decided to return to the party when he finally speaks: “I’m getting a divorce, Riccardo.”  
  
Riccardo is left in stunned silence, his mouth hanging open and his grip on the phone so tight it could break.  
  
Ricky takes his silence as a permission to keep talking. “We’re filing the papers as soon as the fuss around the election calms down. I didn’t want to compromise Clarence’s chances in any way before the campaign was officially over.”  
  
Riccardo cannot wrap his mind around it. Divorce? Ricky? After all that drama they had gone through because Ricky didn’t want to leave Carol? After everything that Riccardo had done to sever their ties for good? Why the fuck is Ricky even telling him this? How on earth is Ricky divorcing  _now_?  
  
“Are you listening, Riccardo?” Ricky’s voice sounds oddly subdued, as if he is afraid of whatever he thinks Riccardo is going to say.  
  
“I slept with Clarence.” The admission slips out without a conscious decision, but as soon as the words are out, Riccardo knows it had to be said. He’s been lying to Ricky for years, and he’s sick and tired of it – tired of all the lies, the uncertainty, the endless pining — and he just wants it to  _stop_ , one way or another.  
  
“I know. You weren’t exactly subtle about it. And Clarence told me after you left.” Another stunned silence. “But thank you for being honest with me.”  
  
Riccardo’s eyes are stinging with unshed tears. He wants to apologize for acting like such an ass, but at the same time he has a feeling it is not an apology Ricky wants – an explanation, maybe, but not an apology.  
  
“Riccardo, do you really think it’s too late for us to make things work?”  
  
This is it. This is what Ricky wants from him. Not an apology, not even an explanation, but  _hope_ , no matter how slim or uncertain. Riccardo has no idea whether he can give it to him.  
  
Ricky is divorcing, the message finally sinks into his brain. Finally.  _Finally_.  
  
A single tear escapes the corner of Riccardo’s eye, rolling down his cheek and stopping on his chapped lips. There is a hesitant smile tugging on the corners of his mouth when he finally answers:  
  
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

 

 


End file.
